


Catch and Release

by crabbynsfw



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabbynsfw/pseuds/crabbynsfw
Summary: Guzma is not always a good man, and he’s not always a bad man. You see something valuable in him in the space between the good and the bad, and you wish he saw it in himself.(slight au) (rating may change)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a conversation with my gf.
> 
> this is set in a slight au where the reader comes to alola as an adult, and therefore can’t take part in trials because they’re a childhood rite of passage, but otherwise their journey is the same as the player’s in sumo. instead of travelling the islands to do trials, they start exploring simply to explore.
> 
> this chapter is sfw, some swear words but otherwise pg. future chapters might be nsfw.

You’re pounding on the door of Guzma’s childhood home so hard you think you might break it off the hinges. It’s late and the stars are out, and you can hear the cries of nighttime Pokemon in the distance. He pulls the door open violently, leaning through the door frame, slightly hunched as usual. He’s not wearing his shirt or his shades, just plain grey shorts and his jacket, and his hair is messier than usual. You wonder if you caught him getting ready for bed and he just threw his jacket on to answer the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” he shouts.

“I thought you didn’t curse,” you say, calmly.

“I don’t curse around _kids_ ,” he replies, probably referring to Hau, Lillie, and Gladion. “You’re my age. I think you can handle a swear word. Anyway, like I said – why the fuck are you here?”

“Show me how to catch a Wimpod.”

“Figure it out yourself, dumbass!” He makes to close the door on you, but you slam your palm against it and push back. He caves surprisingly easy, letting you push it back open again. “What’re you asking me for?”

“You have a Golisopod. You can’t find those in the wild anywhere on any of the islands. That means either you got a Wimpod as a gift, or you caught one yourself. Show me how you caught it.”

“You throw a fuckin’ Pokeball,” he says, voice tinged with annoyance and brow furrowed as he glares down at you.

“You know what I mean! When I get close it runs, and even if I manage to catch up, if I weaken it too much it finds a way to run and hide.” You lean forward, placing a hand aggressively on the door frame. “I _need_ to catch a Wimpod.”

He snorts loudly and looks you up and down, critically. “For your shitty Pokedex, I bet.” Then he knocks your hand off the door frame, leaning forward and getting in your face until you get intimidated enough to back up a step. “Have you been out trying to catch them today?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s no point going out again tonight because you probably spooked them all. We gotta wait ‘til tomorrow, at least. Meet me at the motel on Route 8 at sunset.”

With that, he promptly slams the door in your face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When you get to Route 8 the next evening and hop off the Charizard you rode – without your safety equipment, because you didn’t want to look like a dork in front of Guzma – he’s already there, leaning against a tree by the motel.

“There you are.” He strides over to you cooly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts. “Thought you were gonna waste the last bit of daylight we have left.”

The Charizard takes off, probably to pick up someone else, blowing your hair and clothes around in the process. “If doing it during the day was important,” you say, trying to brush your hair back into place, “maybe you shouldn’t have asked to meet at sunset.”

He looks away, obviously irritated, his mouth screwed up in a frown. He’s not wearing his usual clothes today – instead, just a black t-shirt and horrible khaki shorts. He kind of reminds you of a bug catcher. “Says the idiot who came to my house at dusk asking me to help them catch Pokemon, like they’re some kinda rookie loser.” He scuffs the ground with his sandal, looking almost sullen. “Aren’t you the Champion now? You couldn’t have asked someone else or waited until it _wasn’t_ in the middle of the night?”

“It was really frustrating,” you say, quietly, because you are a little embarrassed about harassing him. “I got pissed off because I couldn’t figure it out, and you were the first person I thought of.”

“Wow, fuckin’ thanks. A high honor, I’m sure.” He scoffs at you as he turns and walks towards the rocky beach, but it seems he accepts that explanation since it looks like he’s done pouting.

You follow him, slowing your pace when he slows his as he approaches the middle of the rocky area. He starts rummaging around in his pockets as he turns to face you again.

“So,” he says, and he’s practically whispering, stepping a little closer to you. “They’re called Wimpod for a reason. You can’t treat it like catching any regular Pokemon that likes to fight. Treat it like… like one of those Safari Zones. They have those where you’re from, right?”

You nod. You never actually got a chance to visit one back home, but you get the general idea.

He crouches down, squatting like you’ve sometimes seen him do during a Pokemon battle, and you squat with him when he gestures for you to get down. He gestures a second time to a small hole in the face of the small cliff surrounding the rocky beach.

“That’s one of the holes they like to hide in. I don’t see any out here, so they’re probably still spooked from you traipsing around like a madman yesterday.” He pauses to shoot you a critical, scathing look. Finally, he stops digging around in his pockets, pulling his hand out to reveal a fistful of Pokebeans. “You can sometimes lure them out with food though.”

Guzma sort of waddles closer to the hole, trying to walk without standing up properly. You try not to giggle at him, because it looks silly. He ignores you starts methodically laying down a trail of beans, waddling back over to the middle of the area where you’re still crouched down.

When he reaches you, he grabs your hand, dropping the rest of the beans into your open palm. Then he lays down flat on his stomach, almost like a starfish stuck on a rock during low tide, and gestures for you to lay down too.

“Get a Pokeball ready,” he whispers. “Ultraball, if you have one. You really only get one shot when it comes out. I’ll tell you what to do.”

You rummage in your bag for a second until you find a ball, then lay there for a moment, hand full of beans outstretched towards the hole, your other hand holding the ball ready at your side. “How long do we need to lay here like this?”

He shushes you harshly, keeping his eyes trained on the hole. You can hear some passersby chuckling at the two of you as they head towards the motel. Both of you must look ridiculous. You feel your cheeks heat up and you wonder how Guzma isn’t embarrassed by this.

When the Wimpod finally emerges from the hole, the sun has almost set completely. You can barely see the shape of it illuminated by the last rays of sunlight. You try to shake your limbs awake, nudging Guzma, because the last few times you glanced over at him it seemed like he was about to nod off.

“I see it,” he hisses, as quietly as possible. “Don’t you fuckin’ move.”

You watch intently as the Wimpod follows the trail of beans, gobbling them up one by one, inching closer to the two of you. You’re so excited that your outstretched hand is shaking a little.

Guzma grabs your wrist, pinning your hand down onto the rock, holding you steady. You glance at him one last time, and his eyes are on you instead of the Wimpod, his brow lowered and his mouth a hard, serious line.

“Don’t look at it,” he whispers. “If you look at it when it gets close, it might get intimidated and run.”

“How am I supposed to catch something I can’t look at?” you hiss back, confused and angry.

“Don’t throw the fuckin’ ball like some dumbass. When you feel it eating the beans from your hand, move the ball in your other hand towards it – _slowly_ – and just tap it.”

You want to groan and say how dumb you think this idea is, but you have no idea how close the Wimpod is and you don’t want to scare it now that you’ve come this far. Instead, you just grimace at Guzma and wait.

Awkwardly, since neither of you can really move, you’re stuck just laying there, staring at each other. Guzma’s gaze flits around for a moment before he decides there’s really nothing else to look at and he looks back at you. His face is softer and less annoyed than you expected. His brows are still lowered and he looks serious, but not uncomfortable or angry. His cheek is pressed up against the rocky terrain and you can imagine there’s probably going to be an imprint from it after he gets up.

When you feel the Wimpod’s mouth suddenly tickling your hand, you nearly jolt in surprise. Guzma smiles a thin smile, obviously trying not to laugh at the shocked look on your face. You stick your tongue out at him.

Slowly, you start moving your other hand towards the Pokemon. You can feel it pause before it hesitantly goes back to nibbling on the beans you’ve offered it. Surprisingly, it’s not that hard to estimate how far your ball is from the Wimpod, since it’s practically crawled into your hand. It stops moving when you get maybe a couple inches away, and you stop too, biting down on your lip and looking at Guzma for reassurance.

He slowly tilts his head just enough to flick his gaze at the Pokemon and see what’s going on. Then, he gives you the smallest of nods, and you close the distance between the ball and the Wimpod until you hear the familiar sound of the ball sucking it inside.

You actually drop the ball without thinking about it, immediately sitting up and immediately regretting it as your arms and legs are stricken with horrible pins and needles. You watch in silence as the Pokeball shakes once, twice, three times, then clicks as it locks the Pokemon inside.

Guzma whoops loudly and grabs you by the shoulders, grinning widely. “You did it!” he shouts, looking manic and excited. You were right, there’s little indents all over one of his cheeks from the rock. His face looks flushed, too.

You feel a little dazed, but you think you’re grinning back at him. “I did it,” you say, and when you hear your own voice you realize you sound shell-shocked. You spent so much time, venturing out several days in a row trying to catch this thing. In comparison, Guzma’s technique was so mind-numbingly easy that you can hardly believe it worked.

You can feel the adrenaline of the catch wearing off, and Guzma’s thrilled expression starts to fade into his usual grumpy one. He stands up, staggering a little, his limbs probably as numb as yours. “Yeah, well,” he says, trailing off awkwardly because he doesn’t know what to say.

You grab the ball as you stand and place it with your other Pokemon in your bag. “Thank you.” You give him a sincere smile. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Whatever.” He looks you up and down, like he did last night. It still feels vaguely critical but not unkind. You probably look like a mess, since you’ve been laying in the dirt for about an hour and the wind was blowing your hair around the whole time. “It was annoying but it’s not that big of a deal. Don’t think I’m your lackey now, though. I don’t give a shit about your ‘dex quest. Consider this me paying you back for that thing with the other dimension and the wormholes. We’re even now.”

“Oh,” you say, a little disappointed. You didn’t realize he was doing this out of some sense of obligation, but you probably should’ve expected it. “You didn’t really need to pay me back for that. I did it for Lillie and Plumeria. Because I didn’t like the idea of you stranded there.”

He barks out a dry laugh and looks away. “Okay, sure.”

“I’m serious.” You grip your bag a little harder than necessary, feeling angry that he’s doubting you. “Like, I know you technically already have a rival in Kukui, but I thought – I don’t know. This whole time, travelling through Alola – I mean, I couldn’t really do the trials, because I’m too old, you know? I didn’t really have a goal for a while, until I met you. You were my challenge. It felt like I was chasing after you and then you just up and followed Lusamine through a wormhole and –”

You cut off, because he’s staring at you in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth agape. You wring the strap of your bag in your hands nervously. You’ve almost certainly said too much and made him uncomfortable.

“What I mean to say is, you don’t need to thank me when I did it selfishly,” you finish weakly.

He closes his mouth and looks at you for a while as you stare at his feet, feeling foolish. You wonder if it’d be rude to just leave, if he’d be relieved if you did.

When you work up the courage to look at his face, he looks pissed.

“Battle me,” he growls.

“We just had a battle, like, last week –”

“I know, idiot.” He takes a menacing step towards you, his posture hunched like a wolf ready to pounce. “Battle me again.”

He throws out his Golisopod, and you instinctively reach for your first Pokemon.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s dark when you finish the battle. You and Guzma are exhausted and the rocky beach is a little trashed from the violence of the fight. Both of you got knocked down a few times from the force of your Pokemon’s attacks, your shins and forearms littered with scratches from the rocks.

You won, though. Despite having only 5 Pokemon, since your newly caught Wimpod would be useless in battle, you managed to pull out a victory.

Guzma looks absolutely devastated from the loss, tearing at his hair and slamming a fist into the sheer cliff face. He’s cursing loudly, screaming at himself.

“That was dumb,” you shout, but you’re too exhausted to put any real force behind it. “There was no reason to put our Pokemon through a battle like that –”

“SHUT IT,” he yells, whirling around to face you. “You wanna be rivals? This is what rivals do!” He’s breathing heavily as he storms over to you. “We beat each other down and beat each other down until there’s nothing left of either of us, and that’s just how it is! That’s how it’s _supposed_ to be!”

You’re too tired to deal with this. You keel over, bracing yourself with your hands on your knees to stop from falling down entirely. “That’s not what I want.”

He laughs again, short and angry and just as tired as you. “Then what? Because frankly, I don’t understand what the FUCK the Champion is doing wasting time with me. There’s a reason I haven’t come for your little throne whenever you take challengers, you fucking numbskull. IT’S ‘CAUSE I KNOW I _CAN’T WIN_!” He gasps for air, having hardly taken a breath through his whole rant. “I’m second place at best. I’m a fucking runner-up.”

You shake your head, looking wearily up at him. “That’s not true.”

“How would you know? What have I ever been picked first for?”

“I picked you first. Team Skull picked you first.”

“No!” Another laugh as he leans down to meet your eyes, slamming his hands onto his knees in a mocking version of your pose. His brows have turned up in the middle, a facsimile of worry as he continues to argue. “I’m a consolation prize! You picked me because you couldn’t find someone better –”

He’s in your face, yelling, and you muster up the strength to shove him back. “Stop assuming you know exactly how everyone else feels about you! You don’t know how I feel!”

Both of you stand there for a moment, angry, panting, voices hoarse.

“You made me stronger,” you tell him. “I had to keep getting stronger to keep up with you.”

“Oh, whoop-dee-fuckin’-doo, so glad to be of service –”

“I made you stronger, too! Don’t act like you didn’t get stronger because you wanted to beat me.”

He’s quiet, and you know it’s because he knows you’re right.

“I don’t want us to be rivals who beat each other down. I want us to get stronger together.”

Guzma laughs one last time, but it doesn’t sound as bitter as before. He doesn’t look at you, instead gazing off towards the ocean and the horizon, his face smoothing out, although he still looks tense. “That’s not what rivals are.”

“Then I guess I don’t want to be rivals,” you say.

He scoffs. “Then I guess you should get back to me when you figure out what you fuckin’ want to be.”

He turns and walks off, towards the motel. You let him leave, because you don’t have an answer for him yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well guys i made it one (1) whole chapter without writing sex but now it is Here. rating changed to explicit to reflect this.
> 
> content warning for unhealthy relationship dynamics.

At least a few weeks pass before you see Guzma again.

In truth, you’re not sure how long it’s been. You spent most of your days hiking the Poni mountains, trying to fill your Pokedex, or challenging the Battle Tree over and over. Soul-searching, trying to figure out what you wanted. After a while, the days started to blend together.

The next time you see him, it’s actually by pure chance. You’re in Hau’oli City, returning to civilization for the first time in a while to do some shopping, and you see him sitting on the street overlooking the beach as you head into downtown. He’s near the stairs, his legs swung over and dangling off the edge of the concrete. His Golisopod is out of his ball, curled up next to him, eating Pokebeans out of Guzma’s hand.

You stop walking, watching as Guzma pops a bean in his mouth and makes a face.

“Ugh. That tastes fucking terrible.” He gives his Golisopod a bemused look as he pats the Pokemon’s head. “Dunno why you love these, buddy. Tastes like bitter dirt.”

The Golisopod just chrips happily at him and continues eating.

You watch as the people passing by give him dirty looks, and Guzma just turns away and ignores it.

You feel yourself stiffen, getting defensive even though you have no right to be. You know Guzma’s done wrong and perhaps you shouldn’t defend him as much as you do, but you don’t feel he deserves this kind of treatment.

You’re the Champion, a hero of Alola, and everywhere you go people greet you with smiles and admiration. But you wouldn’t be where you are without Guzma. These past few weeks you’ve been painfully aware of how much he meant to you, how aimless you felt without someone to compete with.

You cross the street and crouch down next to him. He whips his head around, gives you that critical up and down sweep that he always does as his brow furrows.

“Hey,” you say.

“What d’you want?” he asks, sounding put off and on guard.

“Come get a malasada with me.”

He looks away, turning back to his Pokemon, going as far as to subtly turn his shoulders to you too, blocking you out as much as possible. “Why?” He doesn’t sound irritated, just tired.

“Because I want to buy you a malasada.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, long enough for you to wonder if he’s just giving you the silent treatment, before he stands up abruptly and returns his Pokemon to its ball.

You stand up too, and he’s already walking off down the street and you have to jog a little to catch up.

“Hey –” you start, ready to scold him, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not dumb enough to pass up free food,” he says, glancing at you before returning his gaze to the sidewalk.

Both of you are quiet as you fall into step beside him, heading to the malasada shop.

You can’t help but stare at him a little as you walk. Guzma is usually hunched, but ever since the incident with the wormhole, his posture has been subtly different, less aggressive and more guarded. He looks down at the ground a lot more than when you first met. After the way your last encounter with him ended, it’s clear to you that he sees himself as inferior and flawed somehow, and you wonder if that’s why his body language has changed. He reminds you of an animal licking its wounds after a fight. The dark circles under his eyes look darker than usual, too, like he hasn’t been sleeping well.

The walk is silent, and when you get to the store, he tells you his order pretty quietly. As you place the order and get out your wallet, you realize he’s probably acting subdued because nearly everyone in the building is looking at the two of you.

As you glance around, there’s a variety of expressions. Confusion and shock, because people can’t think of a reason why the Champion would be hanging out with the former leader of Team Skull. Disgust at the fact that Guzma is in the building at all.

When you look back at Guzma, he’s clearly angry, his brow scrunched up and his jaw stiff as he grits his teeth. But instead of lashing out like you’d expect, he just averts his eyes and hunches a little more.

You pay quickly, handing him his food and leading him back out of the building. He tears into the bread as soon as you’re outside. You didn’t know it was possible to chew angrily, but he’s managing it somehow.

You nibble at your own malasada as the two of you head back to the beach. Suddenly you don’t feel that hungry anymore. You can’t help but notice that nearly everyone stares as they pass the two of you.

You feel angry. Angry that the typically kind people of Alola are treating him this way, angry that he’s not sticking up for himself like he normally would, angry because this isn’t how you want things to be.

Guzma’s free hand is dangling at his side, for once not shoved in his pocket. You grab it without thinking, clasping your hands together like school children paired up on a field trip. You just don’t want him to think you’re embarrassed to be seen with him, you don’t want him to feel like he can’t be angry that everyone’s staring, you want to feel close to him and understand him, but you don’t realize the implications of holding his hand until after you’ve already done it.

Guzma stops in his tracks, even stops chewing, one cheek bulging out, full of bread because he took too big of a bite. It’s his turn to look confused now, his brows raised high as he searches your face.

“Uh,” you say, dumbly, not really knowing how to put an excuse into words.

It’s a long moment before he pulls his hand away. He finishes chewing and swallows as he takes a step away from you. It seems like he’s deliberately trying to keep his face even, his brows lowered back down, his jaw tense again.

“When I asked what you wanted us to be,” he starts, speaking slowly, like he’s picking his words carefully, “I didn’t – I mean, I don’t really think something like that is on the table.”

He thinks you’re coming onto him, you realize. He’s trying to let you down easy because he thinks you’ve come to find him and ask him to make your relationship a romantic one.

“No, that’s… that’s not what I was trying to do,” you say, stumbling over your words and feeling flustered.

He’s clearly uncomfortable now, looking away, his mouth upturned. Like he’s about to vomit. ‘’You’re you, so, you know,” he continues, ignoring what you said, and he must be feeling flustered too because now he’s not making any sense. “Like, it wouldn’t work. Because of who you are. And who I am.”

“Wait, what?” The anger is back and you take a step forward, closing the distance that he made a moment before. “What do you mean?”

He breathes in deeply and gives you a hard look, staring you down. “It just wouldn’t work out, okay? It’s not a good idea.”

“ _Why?_ Because you’re worried about what everyone else would think?” You meet his gaze and your cheeks feel hot and you don’t know if it’s because he’s so close or because you’re so angry. “Why does it matter?”

“I dunno, maybe because my reputation’s already in the toilet?” He’s angry too now, nearly shouting at you, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everyone’s fucking disgusted by me. There’s not really any way to salvage your popularity after you’ve led a gang!”

“If there’s no salvaging it, why would you make decisions based on how everyone else feels? Wasn’t rebelling, like, your whole thing?”

“Yeah, and look where that got me!” He’s grinning now, not genuinely, but maniacally, like he’s on the verge of breaking down. “I started Team Skull because I didn’t think people could see me any worse, because I was tired of losing, so I may as well be the bad guy and turn their society upside down so I could be on top. Turns out I was wrong! Before, they just thought I was a pathetic piece of shit. Now they think I’m a _revolting,_ pathetic piece of shit!” He spreads his arms wide and laughs that bitter laugh. “I can’t even be the best at being a fuck-up, I guess!”

“Will you _stop_?” you hiss. If anyone wasn’t staring before, they sure are now after the scene he’s made. “Stop talking about yourself like that. You don’t deserve that kind of treatment –”

The grin drops off his face and he lets his arms fall back to his sides. “Don’t act like I’m some charity case,” he sneers. “I’ll take your free food but I don’t need any fucking pity.”

“Really? Because it seems like all you do these days is mope and feel sorry for yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s got any fight left in him, worn out from his outburst. He shoves the last bit of his malasada in his mouth, balls up the paper it was wrapped in, and chucks it at you.

It bounces harmlessly off your shoulder. “Don’t litter,” you scold him, bending down to pick it up.

He chuckles and for once it’s genuine. He does this a lot – lets his anger build until he has a fit and lets it all out, and afterwards he’s subdued for a while. “I led a gang that trashed a whole town and you’re worried about me littering?”

“That’s in the past. Think about who you are, who you could be, in the future.”

He rolls his eyes at you as you stuff the paper in your pocket to toss away later. “It’s not any of your business anyway.”

You groan loudly in frustration, wishing you could scream instead. “I want it to be my business because I _care_ about you.” You give him your best exasperated look.

He looks away again. He refuses to meet your gaze whenever the conversation goes to an emotional place other than anger. “Where are you staying tonight?” he asks, trying to sound casual even though he’s abruptly changing the conversation.

You sigh. “I don’t know.” You could go back home, it’s not far, but you don’t really feel like it. You’re tired and upset and you don’t want to make it your mom’s problem. “The motel on Route 2, maybe.”

“I’ll drop by tonight,” he says, like it’s not up for discussion. “In the meantime, think about what the fuck you want from me, because I’m sick of not really knowing what your deal is.”

With that, he turns and walks off, and you don’t follow.

* * *

 

It’s 1:30 am, and you’re in your pajamas, chilling out on the bed and watching tv and reasonably confident in your assumption that Guzma isn’t coming, when there’s a knock at your motel room door. You open it, feeling a little bleary-eyed, and you lean against the door frame with mock fatigue when you see who it is.

“Is this payback for knocking on your door at night?” you ask.

Guzma just grins at you. “Maybe.”

You move out of the way, holding the door open for him so he can come inside. “I didn’t come by _this_ late.”

He steps inside and looks around before turning to face you. “It’s also payback for bothering me so often.”

You roll your eyes at him as you close the door and then lean against it. You don’t know how to start this conversation, and you’re hoping that if you wait long enough, he’ll start it for you.

He grabs the chair at the small table, spinning it around to sit in it backwards while facing the bed. He gestures to where you were curled up before, telling you to sit down with him.

You opt to perch on the edge of the bed instead of curling up under the covers like you were before. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs anxiously.

“So,” he says, and then raises his eyebrows at you. He doesn’t say anything else, evidently just as unwilling to start the conversation as you are.

“I don’t really know what I want,” you say, hesitantly but truthfully.

He stands up again, throwing his head back and letting out an exaggerated groan as he runs his fingers through his hair and paces around the room. “Oh, come on! I told you to think about it! That’s like, the easiest assignment anyone’s ever been given, and you didn’t do it?”

“I did think about it,” you reassure him, “but everything I came up with – I mean, I know you wouldn’t be interested in it. There’s too much bad history between us anyway, probably.”

He stops pacing, halting in front of the bed, looking at you, surprised. He takes a few calming breaths, his tense shoulders relaxing. He looks defeated in a way, almost melancholy. “Yeah, probably.”

“But I don’t want us to just be nothing at all.” You can feel yourself getting upset already, feeling the conversation steering towards terrain you’re not sure you’re ready to explore. “You mean too much for me to just… call it quits. I was being serious when I said I wouldn’t be where I am without you.”

He shrugs at you, looking off to the side. “That’s how it is. Sometimes you have to give up on people who mean something to you.”

You stand up, grabbing at his jacket because you’re suddenly afraid he’ll disappear. Because it sounds like he’s _planning_ to disappear. “Do you want me to give up?”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression calmer than you’ve seen it be in a long time.

“Nah,” he says, softly. “If I’m being honest, not really. Feels kinda nice, being chased by someone.” He grabs your wrist, pulls your hand away from his jacket. “Doesn’t mean it’s what we should do, though.”

“But what do you want to do?” you ask.

There’s another moment of silence.

Then he leans in and kisses you, and you realize there’s been another misunderstanding.

You’re attracted to Guzma, for sure. You’ve come to terms with that a long time ago. But you’ve never seriously considered a relationship with him, or even a fling with him. Until now it was enough to be a rival, and you’d decided that your best-case scenario was the two of you as friends. You didn’t think he’d be interested in that since most of your encounters with him have been so antagonistic and hot-blooded.

Romance was so entirely out of the question that you hadn’t considered it.

Guzma, on the other hand, obviously had been considering it and still thought it’s what you’re vying for.

His eyes are closed and hands are cupping your face and his lips are pressed hard against yours and you realize you need to decide. You need to either set him straight now before it goes further, or go along with it.

Your heart is pounding and you wonder if maybe you _are_ interested in something romantic with Guzma.

He pulls back, noticing you’ve gone still and suddenly doubting his assumption that this is what you wanted. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, sorry.” His hands leave your face as he backs away. “That was fucking stupid of me, I just thought – fuck, it’s dumb, but I thought I could give you just one night where we pretend that we’re _something_ , and then we could figure the rest out later or just forget it ever happened, and –” He cuts off, pulling at his hair and looking upset with himself. Angry. “That’s not an excuse. I was thinkin’ with my fuckin’ dick and it was dumb of me and I’m sorry.”

You think about what he’s just said as he shifts uncomfortably, looking at the door like he’s about to bolt. Then you decide you don’t want to think about it anymore.

You’re exhausted of thinking. All you’ve done for the past few weeks is think, and you’re tired of fighting with him. One night, just one night where you can just do something and not think about it until later… Right now, that sounds like a pretty good idea to you.

You lunge forward and grab his jacket again, the fabric bunched up in both your hands as you kiss him.

He responds eagerly immediately, apparently still very willing to go through with this if you are. He’s all teeth and tongue as he backs you up towards the bed. He bites at your bottom lip, shoves his tongue in your mouth when you groan openly, flicking it against yours. He shoves you onto the bed and it nearly knocks the wind out of you. He’s back on you in an instant, his teeth scraping at your neck this time as he grabs your hips, pulling you up to meet his own hips. You wrap your legs around his waist and grind against him, and if you’re not mistaken, he’s already at least half hard.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, already sounding out of breath. “Shit.”

You wonder dimly if he’s thought about you like this before. If he’s thought about having you underneath him, or fucking you on his makeshift throne back in Po Town, or groping you like he is right now, running his hands up your sides and grabbing at your breasts roughly.

He rakes his hands back down your sides, groping your ass as he kisses you again, messy and unfocused. “Are you okay? Is this okay?” he asks, murmuring into your mouth, wanting reassurance but not wanting to pull away.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling at his jacket, trying to get it off him even as he refuses to move his hands from your ass. “Are you ok?”

He laughs, really laughs, as he pushes up your shirt so has more bare skin to touch and then shrugs off his jacket. “I’m fuckin’ great.”

You pull his shirt over his head and he disentangles himself from you long enough to yank both your pants down, tossing your pajama pants and underwear off somewhere but leaving his shoved down around his knees.

He pulls your hips to his again, his hard cock resting between your legs, pressed up against your wet cunt.

He slows down for a moment, pulling your shirt and bra over your head slowly as he looks you over. You’re a little embarrassed at the attention, but you also don’t miss the opportunity to eye him up as well.

His hair is messy as usual, coarse, stray tufts catching the light. His face is serious, his dark brows lowered, his mouth hanging open, his cheeks flushed. You take a moment to admire his neck and broad shoulders, the subtle hints of muscle on his biceps and pecs that he probably got from training his Pokemon. His chest has a light smattering of hairs, and he’s got a dark happy trail that starts all the way up at his belly button. He clearly doesn’t really groom, but it suits him somehow. His dick is a little thicker than you thought it’d be, long, and it twitches against you when he realizes you’re looking at it.

He gets your clothes off finally, bringing his hands back to your breasts to trace the curve of them in admiration.

“Kinda always thought you were hot,” he admits. “Never really thought I’d get to see this.”

You try to speak but it feels like there’s no air left in your lungs. You only manage a little moan and a whimper.

He closes his eyes, his breath stuttering and brow furrowing for a moment before he looks at you again. “Fuck, that’s a good sound.”

He presses his lips to yours as he lines his cock up with your entrance. It’s a lot sweeter than the kisses from before, soft, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip. He groans against your mouth when the head of his cock slips inside of you easily.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs as he presses further into you, stretching you open and filling you up. You arch up against him, breasts brushing against his chest. Your breath comes out in short bursts and it feels like there’s fire in your lungs.

He presses his forehead to yours, letting his eyes shut as he makes a few shallow, tentative thrusts. You meet his hips eagerly, whimpering, want him to go faster and fuck you into the mattress. You reach up, tangling your fingers in his hair and yanking gently.

He grunts in response, snapping his hips back and then slamming into you roughly. You yelp, then practically purr as he fucks you in earnest. He braces himself on the bed with one forearm, his other hand holding your hips still as he thrusts into you. You can feel how wet you are as it seeps between your legs.

Guzma moves his hand to your cunt, his thumb brushing against your clit, and he chuckles when you clench around him and writhe underneath him. He dips his thumb a little lower, getting it slick with your wetness and dragging it over your clit.

“You’re really makin’ a fuckin’ mess,” he teases, his voice low and hoarse. “Fuckin’ wet all over down there.”

You gasp for air, unable to retort as he slams into you harder, faster, bottoming out inside of you. He moves his mouth to your neck, sucking hard at your skin, kissing his way down to your breasts before nipping at one of your nipples. He thumbs your clit hard as you start to clench rhythmically around him, feeling the pressure build.

“You gonna cum?” he asks, and his voice is so low it almost sounds threatening. “C’mon. Cum all over my dick. Moan louder. I want everyone to know what I’m doin’ to you. Say my fuckin’ name.”

You cum hard, practically screaming his name as he continues to fuck you. You start babbling, chanting “Guzma, Guzma, Guzma,” grabbing at the sheets and his arms and anything else you can reach as he keeps rolling his thumb over your clit, even after you cum, so overstimulating it almost hurts.

He yelps your name suddenly, followed by “oh, fuck” as he tenses and starts to cum inside you. He pulls out, grabbing his cock and pumping himself roughly as he releases all over your stomach. He watches intently as his cum splatters onto your skin.

“Shit, you look so good,” he manages, sounding a little weary, before collapsing on the bed next to you.

You curl up with him, your head on his chest. He just lays there and breathes hard for a moment before he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

Neither of you say anything. Now that it’s over, it’s easy to start thinking, and you don’t want to think. You’re not ready to think yet. You close your eyes and focus on the feeling of him holding you and try to sleep so that you don’t have to think.

The next time you open them, there’s daylight peeking through the blinds over the windows, and you’re alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Tracking down Guzma when he doesn’t want to be found is not an easy task. A week passes before you convince Plumeria to give you a substantial lead.

“Please,” you plead, about ready to get on your hands and knees.

“He told me not to tell you,” she says, punctuating her statement by popping her bubblegum.

“Plumeria,” you whine, reproachfully. “I really need to talk to him. It’s important.”

She looks you up and down. It’s a lot like that look Guzma gives you, that critical sweeping gaze, like she’s sizing you up. “You know, when he dropped by to see me before he left, he looked like he was about to do something stupid.”

You sigh, looking out of the window of the trailer, fidgeting anxiously. “I’m trying to make it right, I promise.”

“He also looked more alive than I’ve seen him look since that shit with Aether,” she amends. She blows another bubble and pops it, still staring you down. “He’s been like a dead man walking since all that. Fuckin’ dumbass won’t tell me exactly what happened, but that Lusamine chick really wrecked him. He’s just good at hiding it from the grunts or randos by being angry.” She cocks her head at you, eyes narrowed. “You know what happened, though.”

You meet her gaze and try not to falter. “It’s not really my place to tell you.”

“I’m not askin’ you to,” she says sharply, sounding offended. “Guzma wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. The point I’m making is that you know what’s up with him, and you’re one of the few people who makes him feel like he’s worth something.”

She leans against the counter, sighing, like she suddenly feels weary. “Shitstain had a whole gang idolizing him, and he still didn’t really think he was worth shit until that blonde bitch gave him the time of day. At least this time he’s fixated on someone decent.” She sighs again as she stands up straight. “He’s out fucking around in the deepest part of Lush Jungle.”

You stand there awkwardly for a moment, then thank her, say goodbye, and leave. There’s nothing else left to say.

 

* * *

 

You find Guzma sitting on a rock in a small clearing, far off from the main paths of the jungle, further in than you’ve ever explored before. The sun was setting when you started your search, and although you knew it was dumb to go wandering in the thick forest at night, you weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Ya found me,” he says, scratching at what, in a few more days, might become a full beard. His expression is calm, like he was expecting you to come. He’s in those awful khaki shorts, his medallion sticking out of his pocket and his jacket stuck in a backpack laying on the ground at his feet. He takes a sip from his water bottle.

“I found you,” you say, ducking under branches and cracking a few twigs under your feet. “Did you really need to come all the way out here?” You pick a few leaves out of your hair.

“Told you,” he says, “it’s kinda nice being chased. Plus, good bugs out here.”

You give him an incredulous look. “ _Chased?_ What is this, some kind of shitty game for you? You left me alone after you fucked me and disappeared and –”

He turns his gaze to the ground. “I said we’d have one night. Then we had it. So I bailed.”

“You also said we’d figure it out later.”

“I _am_ figuring it out,” he snaps, defensively. “You disappeared into the wild after that shit with the Wimpod. I get a turn to disappear, too.”

You’re a little taken aback. “How’d you know about that?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “You think I never once went lookin’ for you in the month you were gone?”

You shake your head at him, feeling like the conversation has gone off track. “Still, you can’t compare the two. When I disappeared, it was because you walked off on me and told me to get back to when I knew what I wanted. You made it sound like you didn’t want to see me again! When _you_ disappeared, it was because you didn’t want to deal with the decision we made.”

He at least has the decency to look a little ashamed at this point, averting his eyes and examining his shoelaces. “Look, I’m – you’re right, okay, it was a dick thing to do. Sorry. I didn’t realize how stupid it was until after I’d already done it.”

You feel a little placated now that he’s apologized at least. You close the distance between the two of you, plopping down on the ground at his feet, leaning back against the rock.

“How’d you know where to find me?” he asks.

“Plumeria told me.” You don’t feel bad ratting her out since Guzma would’ve found out eventually anyway. Hell, Plumeria would probably tell him herself next time he visited her.

He scoffs and takes another sip of water before offering you the bottle. “Figures.” Notices you guzzling down most of the water and shouts in protest. “Oi! Don’t drink all of it!”

You stop chugging, gasping for air as you pass it back to him. “Sorry. I forgot to bring water when I left to look at you.”

“Dumbass. Don’t go hiking without water. You tryin’ to die?”

You don’t answer him, opting instead to stare up at the stars. “Plumeria said you’d been fucked up since the stuff with Lusamine,” you say, trying to sound casual about breeching what you know is a sensitive topic.

“Lusamine… She was…” He trails off and stares up absently at the sky as he picks at a hangnail on his thumb. “It was fucked up. I thought she really valued me, I guess. Even if it was just as a tool.” He pauses, huffs loudly. “I hate shit like this. Talking about feelings. Didn’t really grow up with that kind of mentality.”

“Would it help if I share stuff first? You don’t have to say anything, just listen. And then you can decide if you wanna share, too.”

He looks down at you, thinking it over. After a moment, he shrugs. “I guess that’s fine.”

“I kinda wanted to leave her there,” you admit, still talking about Lusamine. You glance up at Guzma and notice how the moonlight hits his jaw and the profile of his face, how his bleached-white hair looks like it’s glowing. “I don’t think I really would have, even if Lillie hadn’t been there, but a small part of me felt like she didn’t deserve to come back. I feel guilty for not forgiving her when Lillie obviously has.”

Guzma hums quietly in what you think might be agreement.

“I don’t like what she did to those kids, or to you,” you add.

“You dunno what she did to me,” he argues. There’s an edge to his voice, like he’s angry but he’s not sure why.

“I can kinda guess. It’s not hard to piece together.”

“Oh, yeah? Guess, then.”

“You admired her and she praised you at first because she thought you were useful, and it made you feel good, so you let her have all the power in the relationship.” You watch solemnly as he clenches his fists, looking like he wants to slam them into something. “You followed her into that portal and as soon as she got what she wanted she said she didn’t care about you anymore. It demolished your self-worth.”

He makes a choked noise, like he wants to say something, but can’t.

“If it’s any consolation,” you say, trying to sound comforting, “it’s possible she really did care about you. You know what those Ultra Beasts do when they possess someone. Once she walked through that portal, it fucked with her head. Messed her up more than usual.”

He slams a fist down on the rock. “Don’t say shit like that! That doesn’t help, that makes it worse.”

You let him take a second to cool down before you ask what you’ve been wanting to ask for a while. “Were you – like, did you have feelings for her?”

“I dunno,” he mutters. He’s back to picking at the hangnail. He finally manages to rip it off, tearing his skin, a pinprick of blood appearing. He pops it in his mouth and licks the blood off. “Like I said. It was all fucked up. She got in my head, made me want to be her prized lapdog.” He wrinkles his nose at the taste of blood and spits onto the ground, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “Fuckin’ stupid. I think I probably would’ve done just about anything for her.”

Neither of you say anything for a little while. He seems on the verge of cracking, so you don’t press him any further. It’s a little weird, sitting in the middle of the forest with him like this, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. You watch clouds as they pass, covering up the stars and then letting them peek through again.

“I guess that’s why I wanted you to chase me,” he says, breaking the silence. “I know that doesn’t make it right, I’m just sayin’. I didn’t want to be a lapdog again.”

“Does it seem like I’m looking for a lapdog?”

“No,” he says quickly, “but it didn’t seem like that with Lusamine either, not when I was in the middle of it.”

You don’t really like being compared to Lusamine in that way, but it reminds of something from your conversation with Plumeria the other day. “Plumeria said you idolize me.”

He balks. “She said that?!” You glance up at him and he doesn’t look mad, just uncomfortable. “I dunno, that’s – doesn’t everyone? You’re the fuckin’ Champion.”

“So that’s a yes?” you ask, and you’re only half teasing.

He nudges you with his foot, cracking the first smile you’ve seen since you’ve got here. “I don’t now that I know you need my help to catch bugs. Some fuckin’ Champ you are.”

You nudge him back, laughing a little.

There’s another long stretch of silence. It feels more comfortable this time, like an invisible weight has been lifted.

“Maybe we should just take a step back for a while,” you suggest. “I think… we probably got too involved too fast.” You avoid putting a label on your relationship with him, mostly because you’re not sure what label you should use anyway. “Chasing after you wasn’t so bad. Maybe we should just do that for a while.”

“What, like an actual game?” He sounds amused and you take that as a good sign. “Like, I go off and hide somewhere and you come and find me? Extreme hide-and-seek?”

You laugh. “Yeah, I mean, why not? I need to travel more to fill out my Pokedex anyway. It could be fun. We could battle whenever we meet up.”

He leans down to look at you better, grinning, his hands on his knees. “Games have prizes at the end. If I win, what’s my prize?”

“Dunno. What do you want?”

He sticks his tongue out, wagging it at you as he makes a crude motion as though he’s jacking himself off.

You shriek in mock disgust and start laughing again. “Um, gross! I said we should take _step back_ , not fuck all over Alola!”

He laughs, too. It’s a nice sound, a manic guffaw that echoes in the jungle. “Okay, alright, how ‘bout this? If I win the battle, you gotta take me out to eat. If you win, you get… whatever the fuck you want, I guess. I don’t give a shit.”

“I want…” you trail off, coming up blank. Instead of giving him a serious suggestion, you hold two fingers up to your mouth and flick your tongue between them, and he cracks up again.

You stand up, smack him on the shoulder, and tell him to walk you out of the jungle because you’re not sure where you are.

 


End file.
